Snapshot
by Omlyt The Awesome
Summary: (USUK) All havoc breaks loose when Matthew accidentally set his extremely popular older brother up with his close friend and president of the yearbook club, Arthur. When the first date goes terribly, Alfred's not interested, but Arthur is! What else could possibly go wrong? Answer: EVERYTHING. (Rated T for language)
1. Sodium Thiosulfate Pentahydrate

**NOTE: I do not own Hetalia or any of its characters.**

It was a good day, and no one else, but the infamous Alfred Jones, doubted it. Eyes peered at him as he had walked through the hallway, his shoulders hunched forward and his head down. Like this, he had almost seemed to be at average height, not standing above everyone else has he had usually. Very few people of his social standing would ever let themselves be seen like that in public.

However, the poor all-American boy had been dumped- for the third time this year.

There seemed to be something about his "goody-two-shoes"-iness that had seemed appealing to girls (and the occasional guy) in the beginning, but only came to be achingly annoying in the very end. The fact that he had let himself fall into that trap so many times only made the young man feel even worse.

Matthew, his younger and petite brother came to stand at the locker beside Alfred's, where the older male had his forehead pressed against the cool metal, in a pose that seemed very self-pity like.

"Al-Alfred, what is wrong?" Matthew asked, his tiny voice barely reaching Alfred's ears in the loud and booming hallway. The older brother was quite aware that Matthew knew what had happened. That was for two reasons: One, being that he was dating a cheerleader, and a rather terrible gossip at that. Two, being that his brother had seen him as devastated and depressed as he was now, two times earlier in the year.

"Tabitha broke up with me." He muttered, his own voice nearly going unheard as well. From his position, he couldn't see the Canadian's small smile, but he knew that his brother was quite glad that his girlfriend had dumped him.

"She doesn't know what she gave up." Matthew was trying to seem as if he was upset that Tabitha was out of the picture, just as he had done with the aftermath of Alfred's other breakups. He never liked any of the girls that his brother went out with. _They don't have any class, they are really mean people, they don't… _The reasons as to why could easily have gone on for almost an hour.

Instead of listing his reasons as to why his ex-girlfriends were absolutely terrible, he simply placed his hand on Alfred's back and patted gently. "There are other fish in the sea."

"I'm a God-damn shark, Mattie." Alfred growled, his eyes turning into slits as he glared over at his brother. Matthew shrunk back some, withdrawing his hand and returning it to his pockets. "It is just like that picture I saw, with the sharks and the bunches of fish that just avoided the sharks all together. " His lips were construed into a rather dramatic and over-exaggerated pout. The younger of the two ignored the comment about the sharks and simply went on to continue the routine that he had almost perfectly scripted out now. As much as it pained him to see his brother like this, it was just too often that Matthew had to watch Alfred stew in his own self pity for just so long.

"I-I have an idea." The words left the Canadian's mouth, unexpectedly. He wasn't even sure where his thoughts were as he spoke, and it was as if someone had taken over his mouth. The slits that were once Alfred's eyes disappeared, and once again, a somewhat normal gaze of bright blue eyes met Matthew's violet ones. However, despite his first fright of suddenly speaking, the idea, as he thought it over, actually seemed great. He explained it slowly, still trying to work out the details of it as he spoke.

"Y-you don't mind going out with guys sometimes, right? Well, I kn-know this one guy, and he's really sw-sweet and smart. Rea-really creative too! He's on the yearbook staff and does mo-most of their editing and some of the photography." He offered a meek smile before continuing. "An-anyway, maybe I could talk to him and you two could go out for a dinner somewhere- to get your mind off of Tabitha, of course." The mention of the girl made the slits return, but Alfred seemed to be agreeing with the idea. Matthew seemed to guess that he would go ahead and talk to that friend of his soon.

"Well, I g-guess I'll see you at home then, Al." And with that, Matthew turned and scurried down the hallway, and even though he didn't have a regular class period. Instead of another class, he had a free period, and he was rushing to get to the library.

At his locker, Alfred could feel everything lighting up somehow. Sure, he still felt rather upset about Tabitha, but he really thought that he may have a chance at not screwing up this time. The idea of possibly actually having a lasting relationship was a suddenly growing hope and goal from the young man.

When the shrill and loud bell echoed throughout the hallways and classrooms, Alfred was drawn out of his imagination, and thrust back into reality. He dug in his locker for his textbooks and slammed it shut. As he walked to his last class of the day, chemistry, he walked a little taller, confidence starting to slowly swell back into his stride.

_You can do it Alfred! Things are finally starting to look up!_

Arthur had a free period at the last part of his school day, but unlike so many of his classmates (but so usual of himself), he was in the library, helping the woman who had kept the place from falling apart: Ms. Elizaveta, the only librarian in the school's two story library. Arthur kept himself busy this time of day by putting the books up on their respective shelves and cleaning up the reading desks. He heaved a rather large sigh after putting down a stack of books that had been higher than the top of his head. He started to put them away, the cart now probably overweight with all it was carrying.

He dusted his hands off and went back to pull things off of the tables and placed them gingerly onto the cart. It was after he had cleared his third table, that he heard Elizaveta berating someone for being late. The Brit knew exactly who it was, as it was only him and one other who had helped out on this free-period.

"Goodness, Matthew! You should have more consideration for your previously made engagements!" The woman's voice was loud throughout the bottom floor, echoing against the round walls of the main study room. Arthur finished his fourth table and then headed towards the sounds of apologies and fusses. It wasn't until the pair had seen Arthur, that they stopped their talking and looked at him, as if he were an alien.

"Well," the Brit said after a considerable amount of awkward silence. "Matthew, I require your help with clearing the desks, when you get the chance." The younger boy nodded before throwing a glance at the librarian and then scurried behind Arthur as he went back into the study area.

"You are late." At the words, Mattew froze and many apologies spewed from his mouth. Arthur simply raised a hand, and the other stopped speaking.

"I do not need your excuses." There was a hint of laughter in his voice. "I just need your help. Why were you late, anyway?"

At the question, the Canadian froze and flushed.

"Alfred needed some assurance. His girlfriend broke up with him."

"He's your brother, isn't he?"

"Yes. And I think I may have... um..." Matthew went into a suspicious silence for much too long than expected. When Arthur knew that the other wasn't going to speak, he shook his head.

"You may have done what?" He coaxed. _Just how badly did__ he seriously screw up his relationship with his brother?_

"I may have... Promised him a date with you..."

If Arthur had a drink or anything in his mouth, it would have been sprayed all over the smaller man.

"You bloody well did what?" His voice grew so somber, that it made Mattie only more frightened. He raised his hands up by his head, as if he were being accused of something by the police. Arthur had only heard of Alfred, and caught rare glimpses of the popular captain-of-all-sports in the hallway. He didn't like what he heard or had seen.

"I-It is only supposed to be dinner! Ju-just once! You don't ha-have to a-actually g-go out with him!"

"Only once. And it will be at Feliciano and Romano's place. He's paying."

The relief on Mattie's face spoke it all.

_Thank you. _

* * *

**Author's**** Notes: **Hello, fellow human beings! Thanks for reading the first chapter of Snapshot! This fanfiction will be taking quite the twist in the next chapter- just warning! Also, I'd like to point out that reviews are greatly appreciated and loved. And, if you have any suggestions as to what you'd like to see in Snapshot, I will be glad to look over them and possibly implement them into the story. Again, thanks much for your interest in Snapshot. ^w^


	2. Ethanol

**NOTE: I do not own Hetalia or any of its characters.**

Mattie tried his absolute best to convince Alfred to dress up a little more than he already had. However, the older young man seemed content in his overly-casual clothes and quite determined to not change at all. With his hair only slightly fixed, a pair of dark jeans, a t-shirt and his favorite leather jacket, Alfred stepped out of the house and went for his car, Mattie following, stuttering and still trying to change the other's mind about his chosen attire.

"Oh, pl-please, Alfred! Ju-just change! The r-restaurant is nice, and then h-he is going to look n-nice and you're go-going to seem so ou-out of place!" The Canadian's voice barely went over the volume of a normal talking voice- much louder than the usual mouse-like squeak or whisper that he would usually speak in. This caused Alfred to look back slightly, a blissfully ignorant look on his face. He had no idea what was going to come to him if he didn't get back inside to dress properly.

"What do you mean?" Alfred asked, his eyebrows furrowing. He really was oblivious as to how important his appearance could be in situations like this. "I've gone to the twins' place like this many times."

"Yo-you're going on a date! At l-least go put on a dr-dress shirt and fix your ha-hair a bit!"

"But, I'm going to be late if I go back in..."

"Go do it, Alfred!" No stuttering in Matthew's voice now. Alfred was in trouble. The boy who's attire was in question went wide eyed and then ducked back into the house, running up the stairs at an almost impossible speed. His younger brother _never_ got upset about anything. What was so important about this dinner anyway? It was just supposed to get his mind off of Tabitha, wasn't it?

He came back down, now wearing a bark blue button down dress shirt and his hair fixed correctly. Nothing a little bit of motivation couldn't fix. He walked back out to his car, stepping backwards to give his brother a good look at his changed attire. His hands rose to either side of his shoulders, as if asking, "Better?"

It was, apparently, as the Canadian gave a sharp nod before going back inside. This resulted in a relieved sigh from Alfred, and with that, he was able to start the car and leave for Lovino's.

Arthur was beginning to worry, but it really wasn't much of a worry- It was more of a nagging feeling of wanting to get up and leave. Alfred was late. Almost ten minutes late. The flamboyant and idiotic waiter had come by twice, asking if everything was okay. He had stopped for a third time when the blond had stood up and started picking up his things.

"I do apologize for wasting your time, Feli. I will pay for the drinks I-"

"I'm sorry I am late. Mattie made me go change." Another blond came and sat down at the table, seemingly unaware that Arthur was actually standing up to leave. He looked up at the Brit, tilting his head to the side with a warm smile. "Were you late too? I'm glad I wasn't the only one."

Both Feliciano and Arthur stared at the newcomer; Feliciano with a slight disbelief and Arthur with an irritated glare. They then looked at each other, having a conversation that neither of them could hear.

_You're going out with THE Alfred Jones? I did not know you, of all people, could get his attention! _The redhead's inner voice asked. Arthur's conversation wasn't nearly as nice, or in awe. More pissed off and rage-like.

_This idiotic git has no idea who he's talking to!_ Would probably be the less offensive version of his thoughts. After a moment, he withdrew his glare from the waiter before sitting back down, hanging the jacket on the back of his chair once more. _If the meal weren't free, I wouldn't be staying!_

"I'm Alfred Jones-"

"I know who you are." Arthur hissed quietly, trying his best to calm down.

"-what is your name? Why are you so... cut off-ish? Mattie said you were nice." Alfred recoiled at the harshly spoken words from the other, his eyebrows going up in a defensive way. So far, he would have rather not shown up at all, with the way that his date was acting.

"I am Arthur Kirkland, President of the Yearbook Club. You were late. I don't tolerate lateness often." He leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed and his chin slightly lifted. It was at this moment that Alfred really got his first impression of the Brit: Cocky, hoity-toity and a hypocrite.

"Weren't you late too?" Alfred leaned forward and rested his elbow on the table and his chin in his hand. His eyes narrowed some as he looked questioningly at the Arthur. The response that he got from the other was rather explosive.

"No! I wasn't! I was five minutes early and I had to wait for you for an extra ten minutes! On top of all of that, I had to deal with this git," he motioned towards Feliciano. "And then you come in here and dare to accuse me of being late!"

"Erm... I don't want to interrupt..." Actually, the redhead did. He didn't like Arthur yelling at his friend like that, even if the anger was directed at himself.

Arthur turned around, seething. "_What?_" Feliciano jumped, and lifted up his small notebook, as if to shield himself from the bitterness.

"C-can I get your orders?" The frightened voice made the Brit reconsider his reaction and look down, to hide the embarrassment written so plainly on his cheeks.

"Tortellini de alfredo, please." Alfred answered almost immediately. He seemed to be the calm one out of the pair, which was a sight that seemed to be exceedingly odd to the Italian. He stared blankly in awe for a moment, before scribbling down the order. He then turned to Arthur, who seemed rather frazzled.

"Oh. I'll get the lasagna." He answered dismissively. Feliciano nodded, scribbling, and then scurried back to the kitchens to fulfill the order. Once the waiter was gone, Alfred directed his attention at his date. One moment the guy was cutting off sentences, exploding, and then the next he was going a beet red and staying suspiciously quiet.

"You're very weird, Arthur."

"Shut up." Arthur leaned forwards towards the table, holding a hand up by the side of his face. He could feel the eyes of the other customers in the restaurant burning into his skin. He took in a deep sigh and forced his glaring gaze up at Alfred.

"I'm guessing you come here often? You didn't even pick up a menu." Arthur wasn't very good at transitioning between topics, as he was not one to really talk to people for long. Barking out orders and criticizing seemed to be his best suites when it came to speaking. Aflred's smile returned at this, and Arthur couldn't help but feel even more stupid for even trying to talk to the bespectacled idiot.

"Yeah. After every game. I came by here with Mattie when I heard Feli talking about what great pasta his brother made. Cheeseburgers really aren't good for you, so I kinda stop eating them during sports seasons." He eyed the other for a moment. "How'd you find out about this place?"

"Matthew bought me here a couple of months ago."

"You're also very formal. He's your friend, isn't he?" Alfred was yet again saying another trait about Arthur, and sooner or later, the Brit figured, that it would turn into a list.

"Yes, Captain Obvious. I am. Matthew is my-" he stopped himself from saying "only". "-friend. What is so wrong with being formal?" He bit back quietly. Alfred's smile faded some. He didn't like that title very much.

"It makes you seem like you really aren't friends. What is friendship without the odd nicknames?"

"I don't like pet names." the Brit shook his head, sitting up a little bit, now that the attention from the others in the place had left him.

"Whatever you say, Artie."

"Don't. Call. Me. That." The glower on "Artie"'s face was enough to kill someone. Alfred's now half-hearted smile faded to a thin line. He glared back, now starting to get pretty annoyed with the other's attitude.

"Look, _Arthur_, I am here to have dinner with someone described as 'sweet'. I was late because I had to go back inside to get dressed up a little nicer than I was. I tired to be nice, but instead you kept getting angry. Now, if you will excuse me, I'm going to go eat my dinner at home." He pulled out his wallet and placed a twenty and a ten on the table. He then stood up and left, catching Feliciano's arm before he left to ask to have Ludwig drop the meal off at his house.

Arthur sat at the table, stunned. He had no idea that Alfred would stand up for himself like that. Matthew would usually bow his head and take the verbal beating, but that is where the Brit realized he went wrong. _Alfred is not his brother in anyway. He wasn't what I was expecting..._It was also in that moment where he realized that he wished that he had asked the bespectacled blond to come back, and promise that he would be nice.

But he lost his chance.

"Bloody hell." He grumbled, hitting his head against the table with a soft "thud".

* * *

**Author's Notes: **Hello guys! Thanks much for the reviews, favorites and follows! Here is the second chapter, and the third shall be released within the next two weeks or so. So! Arthur screws up any chance with our lovely Alfred, hm? So much for using a scare tactic, you idiot! *blows a raspberry at a fictional character* Maybe next time, you jerk!


	3. Diethylether

**NOTE: I do not own Hetalia or any of its characters.**

Arthur had forgotten his house key inside, but the garage door opener that he had in his car worked just fine. His family usually left the garage door unlocked anyway. However, when he got out of the car and as the door was sliding open, he caught a glimpse of three bobbing heads- Brown hair, white hair and blond hair.

The owners of said heads looked up from their instruments and nearly each one quirked up an eyebrow. Arthur stood there in silence, his giant eyebrows knitting together for a moment before he heaved a heavy sigh.

"Did your date stand you up or something?" The annoying voice of the albino spoke up after a bout of silence. They continued to work with wires, plugging them into amps and guitars and bases. Francis, the blond young man, was setting up his drum kit in the back, but he held a smirk on his lips.

"What's that look for, Frog?" Arthur bit, a glare in his eyes.

"You scared him off, non? It must have been your eyebrows." He looked up from his kneeling position, his luminous blue eyes lit up with mischievousness.

"Sod off." Arthur grumbled. He crossed his arms and continued inside, wanting absolutely nothing to do with the French drummer. Once inside the house and safe, he went up to his room and pulled off his sweater vest and dress shirt. Everything seemed to be suffocating him- especially that feeling that he really was just missing something.

Now comfortable in a pair of dark jeans and a T-shirt with the Brittish flag scrawled across it, the bed-headed young man traversed back down the stairs and into the garage, swiping an apple off of the counter.

"I thought you all had canceled practice?" It was originally a statement, but for some reason his voice made it sound like a question. "I mean, you gits do not have to use my garage every time." He moved over to his own amp and microphone, which was stowed away on a shelf above a bicycle rack. He pulled it down and started plugging things in.

While Arthur seemed completely comfortable in this setting and with these other guys, this was the only time he could relax around this triad. Outside of practice, the three would torment him near-endlessly. However, they were amazingly passionate about their music, and Arthur had a voice that made the noises heavenly.

"Well, your garage has the best acoustics." Antonio was strumming at the bass when he answered, plucking out a tune that Arthur recognized.

"And me and Francis live in apartments and Antonio's mom-"

"Gilbert, it is 'Francis and I'." Arthur corrected the albino, using the moment to test out the microphone. _Too loud._ He turned the dial down a bit.

"Whatever. Antonio's mom- she really does have a nice set of-"

Again, the albino was interrupted, this time with a bark of "Gilbert!" from both the Brit and the Spaniard. The reprimanded German only chuckled.

"Antonio's mom doesn't like the noise. Your place is really the best for all of this awesomeness. Though, it does have a hard time containing it."Gilbert stood, pulling the guitar strap over his head. He propped a foot up on a chair and rested the instrument on his knee, moving in on it like a shark to prey as he started twisting knobs in a manner that looked almost haphazard. Arthur winced every time the ruby-eyed young man went to tune the poor guitar, as the other was seemingly abusing the poor neck of the guitar. With the way that he held it around the neck, and the way his pale fingers twisted furiously at the knobs, you would think that he was strangling the guitar.

In the end, the punky-looking Brit could only stand and tap at his mic. The usual little crowd that they had form on the driveway was starting to come by. They just kinda sat there, a couple of teenagers that Arthur did not know, as well as an older man, in about his mid-seventies, who stood off to the side on the sidewalk. Arthur had seen him a few times before, and he seemed to enjoy the music they would play.

After some more twists to the knob, a few more pluckings on the bass and the tappings of drumsticks on cold shells, the Brit began the practice by running through some of the basic exercises. His voice was clear and chilling, a sound unique all in itself. After the exercises were over, they went over and played a few of the songs of which lyrics were written by Arthur himself. During the practice, they even did a few covers of songs that they had known- one of them being the uncharacteristic to punk song "Clocks" by Coldplay. Granted, they didn't have a piano, but it was still well done with what they had.

They had been doing this for nearly three years now- the first time was merely a joke, when Arthur had accidently came across the group when they were practicing themselves. He heard the song down the hallway and followed it, humming as he searched for the source. This was the first time he had realized that the group of bullies that tortured him about his eyebrows were actually good for something, and when he had peeked his head in, singing along to the instrumental they played, they were stunned themselves.

Before moving to America at the young age of thirteen and in that oh-so-precious eighth grade, he was part of his private school's choir. In fact, if it hadn't been for the young man's sweet voice, he would not have been able to attend the school in the first place. Arthur's voice, while not something he used all too often for musical purposes anymore (save for these practices that happened on Friday afternoons from five to seven), was only second to his other talents now.

Within those two hours of practice, Arthur and the instrumental trio played rather hard, occasionally stopping in the middle of songs to correct a mistake and have Arthur bark obscenities to those who seemed to mess up on purpose sometimes, like having a solo at the wrong time (_"Gilbert! You bloody idiot, just wait a little bit longer and you will have your time in the spotlight!"_) or would have the girls from the small audience start swooning at the sight of the bouncing long blond hair that danced behind the drums. However small the mistake, Arthur caught it, and it was corrected.

Down the street and over three blocks to the right, everyone's favorite goody-two-shoes was sitting on his back porch eating cold Italian food with an imposing German looking over his shoulder. They had been talking for almost an hour now, going in circles around the topic of football and school in general. This wasn't the first time Ludwig had come over to Alfred's house, but each instance, they seemed very tense around each other. Maybe it was the competition to get the position as quarterback on the team earlier that year? Actually, that probably hit it right on the head.

"What happened at Feliciano's earlier?" Ludwig asked, taking a sip from a warm bottle of water. Alfred shrugged, taking another bite.

"Failed blind date set up by my brother."

"You have a brother?" The German seemed genuinely surprised. No one really knew about Alfred's brother, much less the existence of Matthew.

"Yeah. His name's Matthew. Blond, stands about the same height as Feli, glasses and a weird curl just like his too." He scrunched up his nose and looked up at the other for a moment, seeming deep in thought. "Pretty much a girlish blond version of your boyfriend."

Ludwig's eyes went wide and his cheeks went a crimson that started to move across his entire face. "He's not my boyfriend!"

"Feli said you two were-" Alfred was fascinated by the sudden flustered expression on the other's face, but the sudden cutting off of his sentence cut the glorification of Ludwig's blushing face short.

"Scheiße! He promised he wouldn't tell anyone!" Ludwig continued to curse, now pacing and water bottle clenched tight in his fist. Alfred was sure that the bottle was going to pop from how tight the grip was on the bottle and decided to stand, still holding his cold pasta.

"He told me not to tell anyone else, so I haven't." Besides, if Alfred had said anything about it anyway, it was old news. Everyone knew the German and the adorkable Italian were going out. It was seen in almost everything they did.

"And if you do tell anyone about it, I will fucking ruin your life in any way I can!" Ludwig was raging now, a face Alfred had seen many a time before. The American nodded, almost nonchalantly. Besides, now he had a form of nonexistent blackmail. Even if he was a bit dull, Alfred was absolutely great with dealing with people.

"You're joking. Besides, I wouldn't want to ruin your reputation as co-captain, huh?" Alfred had a slight glean in his eyes that shouted "MISCHIEVIOUS AND I AM PROBABLY TOTALLY BLUFFING, BUT YOU SHOULD SO IGNORE THE BLUFFING PART"

"You wouldn't." Ludwig nearly growled, standing almost like a large cat about to pounce on a poor unsuspecting zebra. Only the zebra stayed perfectly still and smirking.

"Nah, I wouldn't. At least if I can get someone to do my math homework for me for a… lets think… A month? I think that would be enough, don't you think?"

"You don't want Ludwig doing our math homework for you. The teacher would wonder why you are getting things ri-right for a change." A new, brave voice came from the screen door to the kitchen. Ludwig pivoted on his heels to find a very petite, timid looking boy. The brazen comment that came from him, in no way, matched his appearance.

"Who's the girl?" Ludwig asked. Matthew's eyebrows were pulled together and a hurt look crossed his lips.

"That's my brother, dumbass."

"Oh."

"Al-Alfred, Mom's home. She wants to know what you want on your pizza." Matthew crossed his arms, now completely ignoring Ludwig.

"Everything." Alfred response as he stuffed another bite of the pasta into his mouth. Matthew nodded, but the German had a look of astonishment on his face, replacing the rage.

"But you-" Ludwig started to speak, but he closed his mouth when Alfred waved his hand.

"I eat like a horse." Alfred stated.

"I'm going home. Have a good weekend, Alfred." The uptight, older boy sighed and stepped off of the porch, no longer interested in bantering with the quarterback. Alfred nodded, waved again, and proceeded into the house, leaving the crisp autumn air.

"Oh yeah, Mattie?" Alfred turned, his eyes still adjusting to the dimmer light of the kitchen. He leaned back against the counter, his mom walking by while talking to the pizza parlor on the phone. The smaller of the two perked up, locking the door. "Arthur is a pompous asshole."

The description caused Matthew's eyes to go wide and his mom to turn around and glare at him. Alfred just shrugged and once again just took another bite of his cold food. He threw an, "It's true!" and then went up to his room, leaving the rest of his family in a bit of a shock.

* * *

Author's Note: Ohmaiflyingmonkies I am so sorry, guys! I didn't mean to take that long to update. _ School sucks, just saying. I do apologize for slight out-of-character-ness for anyone. I am just AUGH. So sorry. So! Thanks for all the lovings I get from all of you! Reviews are lovely, great things that seriously lift my spirits. Dare I say, I think I might get a chapter out quicker now, with a bit of help from you all. :p Not really, but reviews are love. Seriously. Anyway! 3 you all and thanks for reading~!


	4. Cadmium Bromide Tetrahydrate

**NOTE: I do not own Hetalia or any of its characters.**

The one thing that Matthew could determine was that all teenagers were idiots.

He even was sure that even he would easily fit into the category, but teens like Alfred, Ludwig and Arthur were the constant reminders of the disappointment he had in his own age group. The observation of hair color was something that struck him as odd: All of the reminders were blond. Was the old saying of dumb blonds actually true? He contemplated this for a moment, but then decided that there were situational exceptions.

But, the participation in any sport easily made the list of idiocy. Both Ludwig and Alfred were slamming into other people, jumping onto others, screaming, jumping around, running and looking like complete and utter fools. The quiet young man was so very out of place in the stands, where everyone was screaming similarly, jumping about and cheering, and it made him wonder all but more. All of these reactions over the catching, throwing and kicking of balls. _Ball_. He corrected himself._ But if they don't stop acting like fools, they might have some to spare before the end of their high school years._ A small bemused smile crossed his face.

"Matthew?" What? He knew that voice! _Why would he be here?_

"Oh! He-Hello Arthur! What are you do-doing here?" Another scream ended his question, mutilating it into a sentence. The Englishman's eyes widened and he took a seat on the bleacher beside Matthew, just as everyone else around them stood up and cheered once more. With the both of them sitting, near the front, nonetheless, the scene seemed eerie. Alfred ran past them like a lightning bolt, making Arthur's breath catch in the back of his throat.

Time slowed down, and Arthur could take in nearly every detail of the quarterback's face. The level of concentration in his eyes, the sweat that beaded underneath his helmet, the blond hair that turned dark and stuck to his forehead… It was gorgeous in a way that the boy just wished he had pulled his camera out and got that immortalized in a picture. It would have been perfect for the yearbook.

Screw the yearbook.

He wanted it for himself.

"-thur? Arthur? So why are you here? You never come for football games. Doesn't someone else cover the football game shift for yearbook?" Matthew just seemed filled with questions, but there was one that was left unvoiced.

"Oh. Ah, well, Jessica was sick, so I had to over for her. It's good that you're here. I wouldn't be nearly as happy sitting down here without someone to chat with about non-sports related things." He offered a meek smile and then started unpacking his camera. "And what are you doing here?" The answer to the question was obvious.

"Alfred's playing today. Did you know that he called you a… Erm… Nevermind." The younger's cheeks lit up a bright pink and he looked away.

Arthur laughed, oddly in good spirits for not wanting to come to this game. "What did he call me?"

Matthew shook his head. "Do-don't worry about it. Oh!" Half-time was called, and a blond flurry of motion came dashing towards the section of which the pair sat. With his head rid of the helmet, Alfred had managed to shatter all of the poetic fantasy Arthur had. A thin line appeared on his face, rather upset by this, but just glad to be recognized by the boy once more.

"Hiya, Mattie!" Alfred yelled from the very bottom, helmet tucked under his arm. Matthew stood, his prim figure barely standing out from the hoard of girls that squealed in delight, stood, waved and absolutely didn't think anything of the fact that he probably just called them "Mattie". Alfred's brother waved back, a small movement that was then hidden by the standing up of the man in front of him. A sigh escaped his lips, and he sat back down.

"Bloody hell, is it always like this?" Arthur asked, his nose and horrendously huge eyebrows crinkling up. Matthew nodded in return. As the band and came out, whatever conversation that could have been held was drowned out by the combined noises of the crowd, and the disjointed screeching and roar of the instruments on the field.

With all the noise, Matthew was sure that Arthur was going to lose all hope in coming to football games, but little did he know that the Englishman's eyes and camera lens were on the reason for coming. With a few pictures of the team (or really good zoomed in pictures of Alfred downing his Gatorade or whatever overly sugared and colored drink he had in his bottle), he moved onto the field, taking a few shots of the trombone player, and the overall group. He wasn't sure why, but the instrument was particularly interesting to him. There was a great advantage to the zoom lens, and it really hadn't discovered it purpose until Alfred came bounding back onto the field and into the crowd. He came to the end of the row Arthur and Matthew sat on and motioned for the pair, or Matthew, to come towards him.

Obeying, but not without taking a picture first, Arthur and Matthew went to the end of the row.

"Matthew! Did you see that! It was AWESOME! I mean, that arc- Gah! I. Am. Amazing!" He exaggerated each move, his hands speaking for him as he motioned everything he said. His brother nodded, and laughed, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"Yeah, you were doing great out there-"

"Why's he here?" Alfred's smile went askew upon the sight of the boy who had ruined his chance at a warm dinner the previous week.

"Yearbook." Arthur said simply, an eyebrow rising. "Do you have a problem with me coming to my own school's game?"

"Didn't know they let old farty demon jerks in." Alfred responded immaturely. He spat had spat the words, his lips pinching together as if he had eaten something sour.

Arthur's eyes narrowed, but before he could respond with something, Matthew cut him off.

"Be nice! Alfred, you know better! Get back down there, your coach is calling you and-" Matthew turned to Arthur, an exasperated look on his face. "Arthur? _Please_ play nice? H-he didn-"

"I did mean it!" Alfred interjected.

"Go play your game… _please_?" Matthew said at a normal volume above his usual whisper. Cowering slightly, Alfred started back down the bleachers, and Matthew's glare was turned back towards Arthur.

"What did you do to make him so angry? He's usually so forgiving." The quarterback's brother and the photographer went back to their respective spots, the air now slightly tense. Arthur and his friend didn't talk about what happened last week at Feli's place, as it was out of fear that Matthew would probably upset Arthur. But with the question now in the air, Arthur's own shoulders were now more tightly wound up than ever.

"He came in late, accused me of being late and called me Artie." Arthur pouted childishly, reminding Matthew to add the Brit to the list of immature, idiotic teenagers. While Arthur was sometimes the epitome of great teenage behavior, there were some other times that he was just as idiotic and stupid as Ludwig or Alfred.

"I asked what you did. No-Not what he did."

"I snapped at him." Arthur hung his head slightly.

"Yo-you did _what_?" Matthew looked over at him, looking as if he was horrified.

"He was late! I mean, you don't come late to a date, do you?" the Brit raised his hand defensively.

"Oh, dear…" Matthew said, slumping over slightly.

"What?" Arthur eyed the petite Canadian with a skeptical glance. "Did-"

"I was the fault he was late. He was dressed to-too cas-casually! I told him to go change…"

"Oh, bloody hell…" Arthur slapped his face with both of his hands, groaning as if someone had punched him in the gut. "Matthew, why didn't you just tell me this! No text, no warning, no nothing! Goodness… And everything could have gone well, I wouldn't of had snapped and we would have all lived happily ever freaking after!" He nearly sunk into a puddle of complete disappointment. Matthew, on the other hand, was a little more composed, but feeling absolutely terrible.

"I'm sorry-"

"Don't be." Arthur grumbled from behind his hands. "I still shouldn't of snapped at him. He was only five minutes late."

"Arthur! Why, that's just being fashionably late!" Matthew looked aghast, as if he had heard some of the most scandalous news. His hand went over his mouth and his eyes were as wide as dinner plates. The glasses that sat on the bridge of his nose only seemed to magnify the size, making them even more larger than life.

"Oh, Matthew, I know, I know… Egad, I just wish I hadn't of had snapped at him." He sighed and removed his hands from his face, sitting upright again. It took a moment of quiet before he looked back over at the Canadian. "Do you think that I still have a chance?" he asked, his head cocked slightly to the side.

Matthew thought about it for a moment, before shaking his head. "No." he said quietly. "But if you do have a chance, it is very slim." Arthur paled slightly at this news, but didn't bury his face in his hands again.

"Well, damn it." He sighed.

Across the stadium, another blond teenage boy was sitting primly near the bottom of the hill of bleachers. With his hair pulled back in a ponytail and sharp, shark-like eyes peering through the crowd in front of him, he couldn't help but lay eyes on a familiar face. Said familiar face was owned by a body holding a camera, and sitting next to one of the most exquisite boys he had ever seen.

"Franny, why the hell Are we sitting on this side of the stadium? We are usually on the other side, right?" The annoying high pitched whine of Gilbert and the mention of the tacky nickname caused the Frenchman to wince and look away from the pair across the way.

"We have better seats over here. And the cheerleaders look much better over here." He offered a grimace toward the albino, obviously straining to make his statement understandable.

"Why do you look like that if you've got a better view?" Antonio quipped knowingly, almost as if he were instigating something. A long, low sigh came from Francis's throat.

"I was interrupted, so now if you shall excuse moi-"

"I will not excuse you." Gilbert said, sticking out his tongue. Francis lifted a well shaped eyebrow.

"Put that tongue back in your mouth, or I will make you regret sticking it out in the first place." Francis' threat would be carried through, as Gilbert once made the mistake of thinking that the Frenchman wouldn't.

The tongue was pulled back into his mouth and he resumed a conversation with Antonio. As far as Francis could tell, it was about different strings used for their instruments- a topic the blond could care less about.

With his eye on the lovely looking young man his furry eyebrowed friend, Francis just watched for a while. The adorable boy sitting next to Arthur partially shone, his smile, exuberant expressions- Francis couldn't help but smile at the sight. He would try to talk to this guy later,_ if he's not a Freshman. That would be terrible, like wearing non matching patterns._

A glance to the side of the sweet looking young man led to find a lens pointed right at him. Once the camera was pulled down from Arthur's face, a horrified expression took over every contour of his countenance. A small smirk graced the lips of Francis. _Let the games begin_.

Francis very rarely ventured out to the football games his school held- much less any sport at all. Antonio and Gilbert enjoyed soccer quite a bit, so, as a good friend, he would have to attend them. Besides, watching his two best friends cooperate was actually a beautiful sight all; however American football was clunky, terribly put together and was just ugly in almost every aspect.

In short: Francis only went for the mini-skirts on those beautiful cheerleaders, but this new face gave an entirely new reason for coming to the games.

"Hey, Franny! My awesome-self would like to know if you would go get some drinks." The blond shot back a slight glare, but then sighed and nodded. His precious sight would still be there when he came back, right? A twenty was held over his shoulder, and he took it before standing up. He moved precariously through the stands and once he was out, concession stands greeted him. Lines and lines of people were at the stands and the row of sky blue port-a-potties. The stadium did have a large restroom building, but at the moment they were shut down for repairs. It was when he heard the tumbling down of one of the blue boxes that he decided that he would not ever be using one of those for his own relief anytime soon- or ever for that matter. _Why did I even consider using one? I'm too delicate for that!_

"Oh… Oh, oh, oh no. This is bad! Why is that git here now?" Arthur glared down at the screen of his camera, staring down at the mischievously smiling face of him. Matthew looked down as well, his eyebrows going up slightly.

"She's pretty." He said simply.

"It's a _he_, you fool." Arthur spat, looking through his viewfinder again. "He's the worst kind of _he_ you will find out there; with his pretty hair, pretty face, pretty bloody everything. He'll use it to his advantage too. Scary git. I'm in a band with him."

"What did he do to you…? If-if you don't mind telling me, I mean." Matthew asked, knowing that his friend was very much exaggerating. If he used similar words for Alfred, and Alfred was really an okay person (minus the huge ego he was burdened with), then no one could really be all that terrible.

"He tried to marry me when I was younger. And his goons are mean."

"Aww… That's not mean, that actually pretty cu-cute. Well, you could tell him to keep his goons away if he wants to still marry you." Matthew smiled playfully, but Arthur returned the expression with a glare. Matthew's gaze shot back down and he pulled at the sleeves of his jacket.

"And no, I am not kidding. Matthew, we need to go, now. Who knows if they will try to come after me... Can I stay at your place for the night?" Arthur had a pleading look on his face, which the smaller man had only caught with a short gaze upwards.

"Sur-" Matthew started to answer. However, the grabbing of his hand and the haphazardly pulling of him towards the exit was what cut him off.

* * *

Author's Note: Still very sorry about the mishap this morning! But here's the real fourth chapter. ^w^

Anyway! I'm glad everyone has stuck with me through this, and thankful for all of the reviews, views and likes! Reviews are love and are made up of soft puppies and rainbows and make me want to write more! Oh! And if any of you have a particular pairing that you would like to see in this, please let me know! Heck, anything with Alfred or Arthur in it could lead to some awesome drama that would only make things even greater!

Love you all bunches!


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